Almost There
by monkey-in-hell
Summary: Alex / Gene one-shot, series three set but a little bit fluffy.


Almost There

"Oh, wonderful!"

Letting a small sigh of resignation escape her lips, Alex quickened her pace in order to catch up with Gene. He'd already voiced his displeasure at the turn of events the day had taken and she dreaded to think what could have upset him further. If it was something trivial she'd make sure he was on the receiving end of her frustration. Coming to a halt at his side, she followed his gaze towards the scene ahead and gave it careful consideration before finally offering a somewhat exasperated, "What?"

All she could see was the familiar bright red Quattro which was exactly where Gene had 'parked' it when they'd screeched into the trading estate a short while ago. The only thing that was amiss since then was the absence of Anderson's car - some silver Japanese model that she remembered a school friend's auntie driving back in the day (also known as 'these days') though the exact name escaped her - but they had both expected to find the other car missing. John Anderson, number one suspect in the double murder case that had crossed their patch courtesy of the second victim, had managed to get the better of them, conjuring his way out the labyrinthine warehouse he was renting as they'd struggled to navigate their way in. Finding an empty office, obviously deserted in a hurry, hadn't bettered Gene's already bad mood which had come courtesy of one Jim Keats who, showing no sign of ever leaving Fenchurch East, had dared to offer his advice on the case. At least Jim's meddling had helped her; the suggestion that cracking a case would get DCI Keats off Gene's back had been wearing thin of late but she'd found that the merest sight of the man was usually enough for her to play that card again.

Instead of answering her Gene stormed towards his car and she sighed a second time, a small noise of frustration escaping with it, before dutifully following in his wake. She walked a little slower this time, hoping the distance would help calm him (and maybe herself) in some way. He came to a halt at the front end of the vehicle, squatting down near the driver's side wheel and inspecting it closely. When she eventually caught up with him once again she finally noticed the reason for his outburst: the tyre was completely flat.

"Bastard," Gene exclaimed loudly (to himself, to her, to the car - she wasn't sure which) before standing tall and adding a qualifier to the word: "Must've done it before he legged it. I'm going to flush the little shit down the toilet for this."

Stifling the urge to mention that they'd have to catch Anderson first - though Viv had already been radioed to put out Anderson's, and his car's, details she wasn't holding out much hope - she plumped for a more pressing concern at that moment. She did not want to be stuck on an empty trading estate, in the dwindling sunshine, with an increasingly unhappy Gene Hunt (who'd probably start to blame her for all of this at some point) when she could be sat in Luigi's. Yes, she'd still more likely than not be with an unhappy Gene Hunt but at least there'd be alcohol available. "You have got a spare, haven't you?"

"Of course I bloody have," Gene scowled in response and she had to step aside quickly when he headed thunderously in her direction. Presuming that he was off to produce said spare she used the opportunity to make her own inspection of the wheel. The tyre looked like it had been slashed with something very sharp and she couldn't help but ponder the possibility that the same weapon that had been used to torture and then kill both victims was responsible for Gene's tyre - though it probably wouldn't be best to mention that to Gene any time soon.

Straightening up from the wheel she traced his movements to the boot of the car which was now wide open. It only struck her then how pointless her enquiry about a spare had been (and why he had reacted so negatively to it); Gene Hunt would mock any man who was so ill prepared or who, heaven forbid, relied on the AA for such things (and surely the only AA Gene needed to join was the alcoholic version), labelling them a nancy boy or worse - a woman. It was a slur on his masculinity and in retrospect she was surprised she'd got off so lightly. Maybe he wasn't in such a bad mood after all. Moving forward, and to the side slightly, she found she had a better view of him and she quietly studied her DCI as he removed his coat, gloves and suit jacket, placing each item into the boot of the car with some care. When he unbuttoned and then started to roll up the sleeves of his shirt an image that had been conjured up some time ago by her subconscious mind (and in some bizarre homage to a certain eighties music video) stormed into her head and all thoughts of the case and their lost suspect faded away from her.

It was a dream whose meaning she had tried not to dwell on too much. She tried not to dwell on any of the dreams that involved Gene Hunt and there had been a fair few of them since her visit to the (fake) future. For some reason, that now seemed downright silly, she'd thought that the dreams would stop once she was back here; somewhere in her mind, possibly squished up very closely against the part of her brain labelled 'denial', she had convinced herself that the dreams she'd had about him when she was back in the future were nothing but a reflection of the strange hold this world seemed to have over her. The dreams hadn't stopped on her return though (in fact, they'd increased - if not in quantity then definitely in quality). And, in truth, she'd dreamt about him often enough during her first stint in the eighties, when her only desire had been to return home to Molly, that she really should have known better than to think they would magically disappear. She really should have known better than to think that it was this world that had a hold over her. She'd known, even before she got shot, exactly what (who) the main attraction was in this world.

"You just stand there and look pretty, Bols."

Blinking the dream, and those thoughts (those truths), away she found Gene staring at her, a tyre wrench now in one hand and what, especially when matched with the tone of his words, looked like a challenge in his eyes. She'd definitely hit a testosterone fuelled spot with her question. Interestingly though, it was a challenge she could rise to, thanks to Evan; when her Godfather had bought her her first car he'd insisted that she attend a course in basic car maintenance, too. Her teenaged self had tried to wrangle a way out of the deal but she had to concede that the knowledge gained had served her well over the years (Pete might have questioned her map reading skills but he'd have taken twice as long to change their flat tyre without her help) and now it was giving her the perfect opportunity to wipe off the sexist smirk that was forming on Gene's lips.

"Okay, Guv," she said sweetly, and quite impulsively, instead. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly in response but he said nothing more, moving away from the boot (and the spare wheel that he must have removed whilst she'd been reacquainting herself with her 'Uptown Girl' dream) and towards the front of the car. She knew she'd pay for it at some point in the future (though he'd probably only call her a girl and where was the harm in that?) but she wasn't going to lug around a heavy tyre even if it was to prove a point. And she didn't want to get her clothes dirty. Or break a fingernail. She smiled slightly to herself as she watched Gene set to work; she could justify it in many ways but the truth was that the chance to see her dream playing out right in front of her was far too appealing a prospect to turn down.

With long fingers now grasping the wrench and his forearms flexing in an attempt to loosen the nuts, she had a feeling that this was going to turn out so much better than her dream. There was no Billy Joel for a start so that was a big plus (though he'd struggle to be heard over the obscene words that were falling from Gene's mouth as one nut refused to co-operate) and no music meant no dancing, too. And there was no one else present either, no Chris or Ray to interrupt proceedings; it was just the two of them. A little alarm bell sounded in her head but it was too late. As Gene finally slackened off the last nut with a low, triumphant grunt she felt her resolve, her determination not to succumb to him, crumble a little further (always a little further). It was ridiculous really; he was only changing a tyre - it really shouldn't have set her off. Still, he did look damn good.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, startled by his voice and slightly aghast at being caught openly ogling him (again) but if Gene realised what she'd been doing then he was keeping it to himself. "Just... Do you want me to get the jack?" she asked, pointing vaguely towards the boot of the car in an attempt to distract him further from her actions. And distance seemed like such a good idea right then otherwise she might just walk over there and kiss him.

There was a ghost of a smile on his mouth as he set down the wrench, a slight clang announcing its meeting with the floor. "You in a hurry, Bols? Got a hot date or something?"

"No," she denied quickly and firmly, as if it was the least likely thing that could ever happen to her (sadly, it was; her last 'date' had been with Gene over eighteen months ago and she just wasn't interested in anyone else) and then wished she hadn't. Coupled with her blatant staring her response might give him the wrong (also known as ' the right') impression and judging by the look Gene was currently giving her it had certainly done just that. Without another word she escaped his gaze, turning on one heel and heading towards the boot in search of the jack whether he wanted her to retrieve it or not. Once there, and out of his view, she closed her eyes and pictured the way he had just looked at her, a small smile creeping onto her mouth.

In the initial wake of her disorienting re-entry to this world she hadn't noticed at first how the rhythm had changed between her and Gene. He had been busy storming his way around CID, Luigi's, and London in general, the surprise at his reappearance and the still lingering mistrust over his part in her shooting failing to calm him; she'd merely set about picking up the pieces behind him, falling into her role as his DI with surprising ease (or maybe tired resignation). In that respect, on the professional level, they were more or less back to normal from the outset but outside of that, outside of the office, she'd soon realised that he had cooled towards her. There were no cosy nights sat in the corner at Luigi's, swapping observations about the team and generally putting the world to rights. There was very little outside of work full stop and not much more when they were busy working a case. She'd understood his behaviour to some extent; she herself had spent many a night reliving that day in his office when she'd blurted out that she was from the future, wishing that she'd said something - anything - else. Something that hadn't made her sound so crazy; something that hadn't disappointed him so much.

He'd never asked her about that particular argument and it certainly wasn't something she was willing to bring up again so there'd seemed no easy way to resolve the situation. For a short time the distance between them had held some appeal for her; it had given her some time to try and work out exactly what had happened to her when she'd been shot and exactly where she stood in this world without her thoughts becoming distracted by him. But it hadn't lasted; the dreams had persisted, mirroring the desires she'd been busy denying, and she'd missed him, too - bad moods and bad habits included - far too much to let him go so easily. It had taken her some time, and Keats' stirring hadn't helped, but gradually he'd started to warm towards her again, slowly they'd started to regain what had been lost. Problem was, once he had, once they had, all the feelings she held for him had only strengthened, making moments like just now (when it felt like it used to between them: easy yet vaguely difficult, relaxed yet underlined with tension, and always as if they were on the verge of falling into something more) addictive and dangerous.

"Bols? Do you even know what a jack looks like?" Gene hollered at her, dragging her from her thoughts once again.

Still smiling she delved into the boot, letting her hands brush over his clothing quite unnecessarily before pulling out the jack. Stepping out from behind the car, and wiping the smile from her face, she strolled back towards Gene who was now standing beside the car once more. There was the faintest trace of a smile on his lips again and something tugged at her insides at the sight of him, her downtown man, and another piece of her resolve fell away. Catching herself before she fell completely she ran through her usual defence. Sure, she might dream about him as her hero, as her friend, even as her lover but this world, DCI Keats, and even Gene's own stubborn silence had hinted that perhaps he didn't deserve to be any of those things. As alluring as his air of mystery was it was also a concern.

A little voice inside her head, quite used to battling this war, reminded her that this was merely another excuse to avoid acting on her feelings. 'He wasn't real', 'she had to get back to Molly', 'he was her DCI' - the excuses she'd used in the past had all become questionable over time: he felt real enough to her, had from the moment she'd pressed her palm into his chest and felt his heart beating underneath it; her time in the coma version of 2008, as much as she wished it wasn't so, had only stressed the fact that whatever she did in this world it would never be enough to get home to Molly - the cold hard truth was that she'd been shot in the head at close range and she'd never been able to go home; and rank didn't have to matter outside of the office, not to her and certainly not to Gene. And her current concern that he might be a 'wrong 'un' was just as debatable. She knew he wasn't perfect, she'd seen and heard enough over the last two years not to dispute that but he certainly wasn't the bad guy and it would take something extreme, something absolutely damning, to ever make her believe otherwise. She knew it really was just another excuse not to do something but it was also the last one she had; there would be no more after this, no reason to keep fighting. There'd be no going home; there'd be no Molly.

She handed over the jack without a word, settling for a scathing gaze in response to his comment, as much to quieten down her own desires as his sexist insinuations. It failed miserably - on both counts - as Gene merely smirked at her before kneeling down to carefully place the jack in the correct position under the car whilst she struggled to tear her eyes away from him. It really shouldn't be so alluring a sight and she tried to convince herself that she was just making sure he was doing it right; it was a pathetic attempt though because it certainly wasn't the wheel she was watching. Seemingly oblivious to her, he set to work with speed and precision, levering up the car in no time at all and oblivious to the effect he was having on her. Watching his hands move meticulously yet lovingly over the wheel, each nut being placed onto the floor in order of removal, only set her desire flaring again as she wondered if his hands would explore her own body in a similar fashion.

Gene prised the wheel from the car, set it down to one side and rose to his feet. When he passed by her again there was still a faint smile on his lips and the very last of her resolve collapsed under the weight of it. He wheeled the spare tyre along the ground and towards the front of the car completely unaware of her recent surrender. Unsurprisingly there was very little fallout for her to deal with; she'd been edging towards this destination for too long, and the signs had been well placed along the way - there was no way home, she'd never see her daughter again and she'd fallen in love with Gene Hunt. In fact, her only real problem now that she'd decided to accept all of those things was how to act upon her feelings (and the vague possibility that he wouldn't reciprocate them). "What about you?" she blurted out abruptly.

Lifting the spare wheel slightly, Gene didn't answer her while he tried to position it over the bolts, another stream of bad words uttered under his breath instead as he tried to complete the task. "What about me?" he asked once the wheel was finally in place and his attention had turned to the nuts.

"You seem to be in a hurry yourself," she noted lightly, watching his hands dance over the wheel once more as the nuts found their way back home. "Maybe you're the one with the hot date tonight?" She tried to make the question sound as neutral as possible, as if his answer didn't matter to her when it plainly did. He still seemed to spend as much time in the office or in Luigi's as he ever did and she hoped that was a good sign. For her, anyway.

"i just want to run that bastard Anderson over," Gene said after a slight pause, turning his head to look at her as he spoke. "Can't do that with a flat tyre."

Pleased with his answer she felt that smile creep onto her lips again. She left it there as she watched Gene set the car back down to the ground and then start to tighten the nuts further, using the heel of his boot to make sure each nut was on the bolt as tightly as possible. All the while she tried to think of how best to approach him. Suggesting that they go on another date seemed too slow (they'd wasted so much time already); suggesting they head straight back to her flat seemed too upfront (and if he really wasn't interested in her - the lack of a woman in his life didn't necessarily mean he wanted her - far too embarrassing).

Standing back from the car, Gene produced a rag from his pocket and started to wipe his hands with it. "And that, Bolly, is how you change a tyre," he said with male authority, turning to face her.

"Impressive," she said, not really referring to his tyre changing skills. Deciding that all of those looks he'd given her couldn't mean anything other than what she thought they did she took a step toward him, intent on giving in to her earlier urge to just walk over there and kiss him. He wasn't against a woman making the first move - Elaine Downing had proven that - and hopefully doing so would lead to so much more.

"That's me all over, Bols. Very impressive," Gene said lowly, as if he knew exactly what she'd been referring to and she took another step toward him.

With one more small step she was invading his personal space but he said nothing, just met her gaze with the same intensity as her own. Slowly, she leant towards him, unsure if he would recoil but hoping that he wouldn't. When he showed no sign of refusing her intentions she closed the last few centimetres between them and brushed her lips against his. Gene responded without hesitation, the rag discarded as his hands sought her out, and buoyed by that she drew her own hands upwards, letting them meet behind his neck and her fingers wander into his hair. It felt wonderful, his lips against hers, his hands gripping her hips, and so much more than she'd ever imagined or dreamt it would be. Blood raced through her veins and her heart hammered against her chest; she'd never felt so alive as she did right then, with him. Wanting more, she trailed her tongue against his lips, probing further when he relented. She was completely distracted by the sensations and her explorations, so much so that she put up no resistance when he shifted them, manoeuvring her to one side so her back was against the car.

Gene pulled back from her, not enough to escape her hold on him, or to relinquish his own on her, but sufficient to part their mouths. "What are you doing, Alex?"

The question sounded almost hesitant despite the firmness of his voice, despite the possessive way he was still holding her. She sensed that he didn't want the obvious answer though she longed to reply that she was just 'kissing him' rather than tell him the truth; it was too soon for certain truths and others would be permanently off the discussion list. He wanted to hear it though and maybe she needed to finally say it out loud, to make it irrevocable. "I'm choosing to be with you," she said softly.

He smiled at her at that; it wasn't a trace of, or a ghost of, but a full smile. She wasn't sure if he knew that there was more to it than simply declaring that she wanted to be with him physically and emotionally: certainly there was that aspect but she was also choosing him over Keats' insinuations, whether they turned out to be true or not; she was choosing him over going home; choosing him over Molly.

"Christ, Bols. If I'd known changing a tyre would do it I'd have taken a detour through a nail factory a long time ago."

She smiled at his words, at the admissions they held; he wanted her, always had, and perhaps felt more for her than the Quattro. He kissed her smile away, pressing his body into hers and subsequently her body into the car. As she parted her lips to his assault and pressed her fingers into his scalp, she decided that though it had been a troublesome journey, it had been one worth the travelling.


End file.
